The Broken Sword

Alarm bells blared. Everything seemed to happen at once; the sequence of events was never clear in MacQueen’s memory. The captain seemed to somersault over the table, into his lap, as the ship veered violently to starboard, and a great wave crashed into her midships. As the funnel let out a blast, the door of the captain’s cabin was flung open—and O’Dwyer stood there, holding onto the doorframe, as well as his enormous Colt .45.

“Stop this ship!” shouted O’Dwyer. MacQueen saw one of the Frenchmen behind him, holding grimly onto a compass and waving another gun.

“Submarine surfacing on the port bow!” shouted a lookout. The captain tried to disentangle himself from MacQueen, and the first officer shouted down the voice pipe for port helm. The Lady Hawkins careened back into the ocean swell and then righted herself, only to roll in the other direction.

“What on earth is the meaning of this?” spluttered the captain in outrage. “Is this piracy? Have you gone off your head, man?”

“Stop this fuckin’ tub or I’ll blow your head off,” answered O’Dwyer. “There is no time to talk….”

“What’ll I do, sir,” cried the first officer’s hollow voice from the bridge. “The sub is breaking out the French flag and her guns are training on us!”

“Stop the ship, Mr. O’Riley,” called the captain. He turned to O’Dwyer. “You’ll have a lot of explaining to do, my good man.”

The engine room bells rang, and the ship started to wallow in the troughs of the waves. MacQueen’s jacket was covered with spilled coffee, and the captain searched for his cap.

“Signal coming from the starboard quarter, Captain,” shouted the excited lookout. “I can’t tell what it is—looks like a warship.”

“What in the hell is going on?” asked the captain angrily. He jammed his cap onto his head and brushed past O’Dwyer into the wheelhouse. The entire ship was a shambles of broken crockery and bruised occupants.

“I’ll need some power to head her into the current,” said the first officer. “This is crazy!”

“Quarter speed,” answered the captain without glancing at O’Dwyer. “Send Sparks here to catch that signal, whoever they are. Get an Aldis lamp and signal that submarine. It must be the Surcouf, the stupid bastards.” He turned to face O’Dwyer’s still-aimed weapon. “Now what in the hell are you up to? I’ve got a ship to protect—and I’ll have you hanging from a gibbet if you haven’t got an explanation for all this.”

O’Dwyer didn’t flinch, nor did he lower his gun. “Sit down over there, kid,” he said to MacQueen, nodding at a bench beside the chart table. “Keep outta this.”

MacQueen eased his sore arm and sat where indicated. The helmsman was struggling to keep headed into the waves as the propellers slowly turned to quarter speed, which would merely keep them where they were. The ship plunged and rocked, and the terrified passengers were wearing lifejackets and struggling towards their lifeboat stations.

“Send them back to their cabins—no one’s going to get hurt,” said O’Dwyer. “I want you to swing one of those lifeboats out on its davits and collect a crew. Some of your passengers want to get off.”

“What?” shouted the captain. “I am the captain of this ship, sir, and I am responsible for everyone on it, including you.”

“Captain,” said O’Dwyer, with icy calm. “These particular passengers are going to be arrested in Bermuda. We consider them neutrals. You either let them off here or we will sail all the way to Martinique.”

“That is the Admiral Scheer, Captain. If you don’t do exactly what I say we will all be blown out of the water.”

“Great God!” said the captain. “Man the gun! We are in neutral waters….”

MacQueen suddenly felt a quick thrill of pure excitement run up his spine. It exploded in his brain like a narcotic, and everything became doubly intense. The blue sea was bluer and the .45 was bigger and his heart pounded with anticipation of the next moment.

“Forget your popgun,” said O’Dwyer. “Get that lifeboat ready. I have to go too, but I’ll be back. I’ll take your boyfriend here as insurance.”

“Bosun’s mate, ready a boat for this gentleman,” said the captain. “Muster a crew of volunteers.” The bosun’s mate flicked a salute and pushed past the trench-coated Frenchman onto the deck. “How do I know they won’t blow us up anyway?” he asked.

“I am your insurance,” answered O’Dwyer. “Nobody is going to blow up Uncle Sam.”

The signals officer rushed in and handed a sheet of a signal pad to the Captain. It read:

SENDING A PINNACE TO SUBMARINE STOP
REFRAIN FROM FIRE STOP YOU ARE IN
NEUTRAL WATERS STOP WE ARE NOT FINIS
ACKNOWLEDGE

SIGNED KRANKE
ADMIRAL SCHEER

“Acknowledge the signal, Sparks,” said the captain. He turned to O’Dwyer. “There is a British naval liaison officer on board that submarine—did you know that?”

“If they haven’t thrown him overboard,” replied O’Dwyer grimly. “None of this is my choice, Captain. I just do what I’m told.” He jerked his head at MacQueen. “Go down and get a coat on,” he said. “And bring up my lifejacket.”

“Boat ready on the lee side, sir,” reported the bosun’s mate. “I’ll take ’em over, if it’s okay with you?”

MacQueen raced down the companionway, noting the submarine’s conning tower tossing about on the waves: a twin gun turret was pointed at him. The Admiral Scheer was barely discernible on the distant horizon—a mere smudge that could destroy a city.

“What’s going on up there?” asked the harried purser, who was wearing a lifejacket over his uniform.

“Unscheduled stopover,” shouted MacQueen as he hurried down the heaving hallway to the cabin. He wrenched two lifejackets from under the bunks and took his blue overcoat off the hanger. He opened a drawer and stuffed some packages of Lucky Strikes into the pocket of the overcoat, then sped back again to the bridge.

The Frenchmen were assembling around a lifeboat that had been swung out on its davits. Six seamen were sitting in the boat, with the bosun’s mate at the stern. Yvonne was standing beside one of the men. She wore a lifejacket and had her hands clasped in front. Her eyes were averted downwards, and the man had his arm possessively around her shoulders. MacQueen felt a twinge of jealousy and frustrated anger. O’Dwyer backed out of the wheelhouse and beckoned for them to get into the boat. They clambered in and settled themselves between the ranks of the seamen. MacQueen climbed to the back and sat beside the bosun’s mate. O’Dwyer climbed into the bow and struggled into his lifejacket.

The crew on the Lady Hawkins played out the lines, and the lifeboat was lowered, stern first, onto the surface of the Gulf Stream. The bosun’s mate held the tiller hard over, so their bow would veer from the side of the ship. The seamen raised their oars as they hit the water. The lines were cast off, and the oars were lowered into the oarlocks.

“Steady men,” said the bosun’s mate. “I’ll give you the stroke.” They were pulling against the current and it was hard going.

“Try to talk to the Englishman, MacQueen,” shouted the captain through cupped hands. “Try to bring him back!”

An aircraft suddenly droned overhead. It had pontoons, and straight black crosses were painted on the upper and lower wings. They waved at the struggling lifeboat and waggled their way into the distance. The boat rose onto the crest of a wave and the whole world seemed to come into sight; then they descended into the trough and were surrounded by walls of remorseless water. The submarine edged towards them. The tricolour of France flew from a small staff just aft of the control room under the bridge. The Cross of Lorraine was absent from the white centre panel of the flag.

“Ho, ho,” shouted the capitaine over a loud hailer. “Welcome, mes braves!” French sailors with red bonbons on their hats and wearing striped jerseys scrambled onto the superstructure and grasped the line tossed to them by O’Dwyer. They grappled the boat alongside the Surcouf and helped their drenched countrymen to embark. Yvonne kept her eyes downcast and was practically lifted aboard. “You too, MacQueen,” ordered O’Dwyer. “Get out. I don’t want them casting off without me!”

The seamen transferred some suitcases and parcels, and MacQueen leaned on their shoulders as he stepped over the thwarts and grasped a French sailor’s hand. The submarine felt much steadier in the water. O’Dwyer motioned for him to go ahead, and he climbed onto the bridge of the conning tower. A sub-lieutenant saw the difficulty with his arm and reached to help him. Yvonne and the others had disappeared below.

“Welcome to Surcouf,” said the capitaine. “Mister O’Dwyer, is it? This is quite a dramatic rendez-vous, n’est ce pas?”

MacQueen saw the Lady Hawkins rising and falling, and he could discern the worried captain standing on the bridge. He saw a small motor-launch vessel approaching, with a large German naval ensign flying from the stern.

“Hello, Captain,” said O’Dwyer. They shook hands without emotion. “This young man is travelling with me and will return. He is Canadian. Would you give me a receipt for the seven bodies delivered, please? We are all sitting around here, and this is no picnic.”

“But of course, Mister O’Dwyer,” answered the capitaine. “Just wait until the Boche deliver their little package, eh? It is some Calvados from my native land….”

The capitaine raised his ponderous eyebrows under his gold-braided, salt-encrusted cap.

“No, no—it is perfectly correct,” replied the capitaine. “Naturally, the young man wants to know about his brother-in-arms, eh? He is well, but cannot come to the bridge. He is, ah, indisposed?”

While the capitaine was preparing the receipt, MacQueen turned in disgust and went down the superstructure, to the deck. The German pinnace was approaching from the side opposite the lifeboat. A German naval rating stood in the bow with a weighted canvas bag on the end of a long boat hook. In a flash, MacQueen surmised it contained codes. As the rating lowered the package, MacQueen pushed a French sailor aside and grabbed the boat hook. The package was heavy and almost toppled him into the ocean. He hitched the boat hook under his good arm and backed to the end of the superstructure, where he suspended the package out over the bottomless depths. A young German officer in the pinnace withdrew a Luger from his holster.

“MacQueen!” shouted O’Dwyer, also pointing his automatic. “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” The German officer looked icily from MacQueen to the conning tower, then back. The French sailors backed away down the superstructure. MacQueen stood like Horatio on the Roman bridge in his long blue coat and shouted defiantly, “If you want this package, Capitaine, show me the Englishman!”

MacQueen saw the capitaine quickly confer with O’Dwyer. The ocean washed over the superstructure and around his feet. The German pinnace bobbed up and down on one side, and the seamen huddled in the lifeboat on the other. A quarter mile away, the Lady Hawkins rose and fell in the blue ocean; on the horizon a bright light blinked from the silhouette of the Admiral Scheer. MacQueen’s arm was tiring fast, but despite the pain he propped his injured arm under the other to help bear the weight of the package.

A pale young man in a British uniform appeared on the conning tower, descended, and approached MacQueen along the superstructure.

“You’ll get yourself killed,” he said. “My name is Barney. They had me locked up. What’s going on?”

“Are you okay?” asked MacQueen. “Get into that lifeboat and come back with us.”

“My men are down below,” said Barney. “Anyway, I’ve been ordered to stay on this wreck, and we all obey orders. I guess they’ve taken some spies on board?”

“I don’t know who they are,” replied MacQueen. “I can’t hold this much longer. Should I drop it?”

“They’d just kill you,” said Barney. “Swing it inboard, it doesn’t matter. This sub is doomed anyway.”

MacQueen swung the package onto the deck and a French sailor hurried to retrieve it. The German pinnace swung around and headed for the Admiral Scheer. MacQueen reached into his pocket and handed Lieutenant Barney ten packages of Lucky Strikes.

“When you get to Bermuda,” said Barney, “see that my wife gets the message that I love her, if you will.”

“You goddamn crazy son of a bitch!” shouted O’Dwyer. “Get into that goddamn life boat. You almost fucked everything and got us all killed in the bargain.”

MacQueen swallowed hard and extended his hand. “Certainly,” he said. “I will pass on your message. I’ll also tell them to get you off of this crazy ship.”

Lieutenant Barney smiled faintly. His face was strained and bloodless as he turned towards the conning tower. He walked past the frantic O’Dwyer, who was waving his automatic in the air. MacQueen wearily climbed into the lifeboat. “Good show, sir,” said the bosun’s mate.

“Let’s get outta here,” said O’Dwyer, casting off the line. “Christ, what a life!”

As they were struggling back to the Lady Hawkins, the Surcouf slowly slipped beneath the waves. The Admiral Scheer disappeared from the horizon, heading for Kiel and shore leave for everyone. The crew secured the lines from the ship, and the captain ordered “Full steam ahead!” before they were fully hoisted onto the boat deck.

To O’Dwyer’s fury, the captain arrested him and put him in irons for the rest of the journey. “Whatever the hell he is in Washington,” explained the captain, “he is just a bloody mutineer to me.”